by James Grey
Miss Tottingham cleans up George with a bowl of soapy water before the switch. It reminds me that this place isn’t just fun, it’s also a professional setup. And I’m probably being scored for my performance. Forgot about that again. Oh dear.
“Sit on the floor, Emma,” Miss Jackson chimes in. “We don’t want you dripping on the carpet.” Oh yes. It must be like Niagara Falls down there. Hmm. I sit cross-legged on the varnished floor.
Sarah gets similar treatment, although she doesn’t have to take quite so enormous a shaft in her rear. Robert enters her first, his prick still sodden with my juices as he presses into her ass. For a while he bends her over in a standing position. She looks at the floor, and I wonder what’s going through her mind. Does she fight the same English demons I do?
It’s weird watching, but as I come to my senses I begin to get turned on again. I hug my knees now, but it no longer even crosses my mind to be conscious of my nudity. I’m still in the moment, and barely perceive the two mentors watching as, finally, Sarah gets put in a man sandwich too. She’s on her back, though, her anal attacker below and George playing missionary above. It doesn’t look quite as comfortable, I think to myself.
I’m not quite sure she comes. The men certainly do, and who could blame them for that? Sarah seems confident at times, but shy at others. I can’t quite place her. I make a note to ask her later.
The mentors look pleased enough when it’s over, though they don’t say anything about our performance as they dismiss us.
“Thank you, ladies, you may go and rest,” says Miss Jackson. “Sarah, leave your clothing here and remain naked until further notice.”
I see her mouth twitch with a trace of alarm, but I smile inwardly: I have forcibly stripped company at last! In this warped new world, that feels like a reward of sorts.
Nobody offers us a chance to clean up. I’m not surprised any more. And so we walk out of the door with unmistakable evidence of intercourse streaming down our thighs. That, and a curious gaping feeling inside my butt. I’m not sure either sensation bothers me anymore.
It’s a different feeling walking down the hallway this time. We don’t meet anybody, but today I’m not dreading the prospect. For one thing, I have solidarity in Sarah. She makes me feel like the confident one as she hangs slightly back and keeps her arms folded across her. She walks with her legs squeezed and her toes pointing inwards, as if that will somehow make her generous vanilla patch less visible.
Reminds me of me yesterday.
Weird how you can let yourself come while being fucked by two men, in full view of three other people, then be shy about something like walking around naked. Why is that?
I find myself taking Sarah by the hand.
“Come on,” I hear myself say. “You’ll get used to it in no time! I was shy yesterday but I’m past it now.”
It’s confident Emma saying these words, and I’m happy she’s still with me. This is the Emma who is proud of her prettiness and doesn’t take shit. Self-awareness isn’t really my strong suit, but even I can’t fail to recognise the change that’s come over me today.
“Thanks…” says Sarah, flashing me that English grimace-smile. I can see something like concern in her eyes, almost like she’s welling up.
“You want to talk, maybe?” I ask her gently. This sensitivity is another thing I like about confident Emma.
Sarah sniffs a little and nods as we stop outside her door.
“Shall we go in here?” she says, her eyebrows raised. “I’m…I don’t share with anyone.”
“Sounds good!” I’m tempted to suggest a swap. But she’s done nothing to deserve that.
She opens up the door. It’s the first time I’ve been into one of the other rooms, and straight away I see that this place isn’t a hotel, where every room is the same. Hers is laid out differently, with three-quarter beds standing sentinel on either side of the window. It doesn’t seem to have a bath, but it’s got a little lounge area instead.
I’m not sure we should be sitting on those expensive-looking chairs in this state, though. And I think Sarah has the same thought.
“Um, how about we sit on the spare bed? Probably better to, ah, drip on that?” she suggests.
I nod and smile at her, amused now by the ridiculousness of it all. Two grown women, not a stitch of clothing on their bodies, unable to sit on chairs because of the sticky semen leaking from their vaginas, and, er, elsewhere. Because they’ve just been double-fucked. On a Wednesday afternoon.
And I smirk to myself once more as I think of the office chair I’d be virtually chained to right now if I hadn’t given those assholes a piece of my mind. Despite the rollicking I’ve just had from Robert and George, my shoulders sure are a lot less tense than they would normally be by midweek.
Sarah hops onto the bed and sits, shyly, with her legs folded in front of her. I surprise myself by sitting cross-legged, without a thought. You were kissing this girl a few minutes ago…
“You were amazing back there,” I tell her truthfully. “Why the worried frowns? I can’t think of any reason…”
“Oh, I know,” she sniffs. “It seemed right in the room but as soon as we left, and I didn’t have my clothes, I felt really self-conscious and a bit guilty.”
I ponder her words. Why am I not feeling that any more? Have I really been hardened quite so fast?
“Hey, that’s normal, Sarah…I think! You’ve had it easy. When my clothes got taken off me I had to walk out of the room all alone. You’ve no idea…”
“It’s kind of dumb, isn’t it?” she says, her features brightening a little. “I mean, we do all those things behind closed doors, and then…”
“I was just thinking exactly the same,” I interrupt. “I guess it’s a responsibility thing, don’t you reckon? Like…I don’t know about you, but I was brought up in the innocent English way and this stuff is, you know…not what nice young ladies do.”
“Oh yes!” she exclaims, sitting up a little so that her firm, peaked tits are difficult not to look at. “I know what you mean. But then, when we’re kind of being made to do stuff, we feel like it’s not our doing, and it’s okay.”
I nod.
“Until we walk out the door and the people making us do stuff aren’t with us. Then we have doubts again.”
“Exactly.”
She chuckles quietly. We seem to get each other completely. No free-spirited Aussie would understand us like we do. But that passion that came over me in the room, when I kissed her with such burning lips, seems to belong to another time. I can tell she’s super-cute, pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. Like me, I suppose. But it seems like that moment we had just belonged only to that scene. It’s kind of weird. Or is that me flipping back to my old self again?
I’m curious to know if it’s just me. I probe her a little.
“But did you enjoy everything in there? You didn’t seem too introverted…”
Her eyes widen and I see them light up. Just the mention of our encounter seems to have her going.
“Hell yeah! I did it once before but there’s nothing much not to like, is there? I feel a little torn in two right now, but in a good way. And you?”
She puts her hand on my knee: “You were a wonderful kisser, Emma. I…I…really did like that.”
She cocks her head to one side, as if seeking approval.
“It sure was good,” I agree. Her hand tickles the inside of my knee. She really has perked up a lot since we got in here. I gather the spirit of that kiss is still with her. But I’m just not ready for more lesbian talk right now. Too much has happened today. You’ll handle this, Emma.
I lean back on my hands, trying to cool the situation off just a little.
Nice one, Emma. You’ve just shown her your dripping pussy, you genius.
Now confident Emma resolves to keep the spirit of honest conversation going.
“Fuck, I really lost myself in that kiss…but the feeling has kind of gone away now. I don’t real
ly have any, erm, history with girls.”
I avoid catching her eye, but hear her giggle. I feel like a bomb just got defused.
“Oh, now who’s the shy one?” she grins.
We both laugh as she takes my hand off my knee and we change the subject. I think we’re going to be friends. At least.
We stay there, just talking, for much of the afternoon. It’s nice to simply hang out, and not have to endure my painful shared room. We really do have similar upbringings. We’re both city girls, and we’re both at a bit of a crossroads in life. She’s graduated from drama school but having a tough time finding any work.
As I get to know Sarah, she begins to add up for me. No doubt someone who wears her heart on her sleeve and enjoys attention. Drama must suit her in that way, but does she have the necessary confidence to handle its knocks? I think the outrageously dyed hair and the body piercings – belly and a nipple – mask a naturally shy character.
Ultimately we’ve got a lot in common. I think Sarah has to work to bring out her inner minx. So do I. But when our switches get flicked, the minxes are pretty compelling.
We never discuss George or Robert. What we thought of their looks, their ways. The men who just drilled themselves inside each of us don’t come up in conversation. Only much later does it hit me how odd that is.
Chapter XIII
When I get back to my room, I find a note on my bed. What now? I’m feeling good right now, kind of glowing after making friends with Sarah. These letters tend to be unsettling. I just don’t know if I need that right now.
Petra’s not there. Probably out on a fucking assignment. She’s a whore.
So are you, Emma...
I slap that thought away. Suddenly it annoys me. Yup, the English prude in me has turned up again. Just hours after I kissed a girl and took two cocks. How positively annoying!
I sit down on the bed with a sigh, crossing my legs for nobody in particular as I unfold the latest piece of paper. The message is simple.
Miss Carling, you may get dressed. If you wish.
Best wishes,
Miss Jackson.
I stare at page, blinking at the good news. I’ve almost forgotten about being naked. But it is good news. Isn’t it?
I digest what it means. At last, I can go to the wardrobe and pick out something to cover my modesty. No more feeling like some kind of warped Eve. An Eve who ate the apple, felt shame, but still walked around nude anyway.
Then I think of Sarah, who has just been stripped and instructed to remain bared to all. All those eyes. Jealous female eyes. Male eyes that would blaze her tight body up and down with their longing stares. Poor Sarah. I know she’ll enjoy the solidarity if I stay bare with her. We just spoke about it.
If you wish. Getting dressed is quite clearly optional.
I unfold my legs, lie back on the bed and close my eyes. I crook my arm and rest the back of my hand on my forehead. It’s my this-is-too-much pose.
I can’t believe I’m thinking about whether to get dressed or not. What has this place done to me? Yes, it really is a bit too much.
I’m out in the garden, alone. Nobody is around. It’s a dry evening, but chilly, so I’ve put on jeans and a black blouse. I wanted a jumper, too, and, miraculously, I found a woolly jersey tucked in the furthest corner of the closet. I’m not convinced it hasn’t been left here by accident – but I’m grateful to find it.
I’ve got no underwear on out here. The rebel in me wants to cling onto that as she fights to stay naked. She accepts the clothes, but only because it’s cool outside and she knows I need to think with a clear, head. One that isn’t clanging with sexy sensations like the gentle wind whistling across my nipples. One that isn’t attached to a body being ogled and inspected and sized up. She reckons it’s only temporary, because it’s chilly and I’m alone. I think I’ll stick to naked when I’m with Sarah and the others. Just to help her.
I don’t understand myself at all right now. Do I even know what I want? At all?
I’m sitting on the swinging chair at the bottom of the garden, looking back up towards the house. It really is deserted, and I wonder if some of the resident gentlemen come and go from the house. Do they even sleep here? I think some of the girls are eating inside, but I’m not hungry right now. And I don’t feel like talking.
My shoulders are hunched forward, my palms pressed down on the simple wooden plank. The willow fronds swish all around me as I stare absently at the ground. There’s something insistent about their constant to-ing and fro-ing. It gets to me. Maybe because it reminds me of me.
I feel completely and utterly overwhelmed. Everything has caught up with me this evening. Sunday seems a lifetime ago, and I struggle even to order the things I’ve done, the acts I’ve committed. It’s an almighty swamp of experience, emotion and embarrassment. I don’t know how I feel about any of it.
I’ve had my highs, my lucid moments. Times when I’ve thought I’ve broken through. But I keep coming back here, to this shy, guilty, confused Englishwoman. Why can’t I be like Alyssia? This must be so simple for her!
I find myself wanting Rupert. Where did he go? I know he’s capable of holding me, making me feel like a comforted little girl in his arms. Last time we spoke, though, he’d fucked me like an animal.
What if I want more of him? And how could he dismiss me like that? Why did I just go along with it? Is this how the game will be? How can you want more of him, Emma!
I feel the tips of my ears pound with redness as I think of how much I loved being fucked like an animal. Yes, it was as wonderful an orgasm as I’ve ever had. Not even the prude in me could deny that.
Yet I don’t even know the guy. And I’m mad at him. Cause he told me to clear off, and left me. When he knew I liked him.
I sigh again as I look to the pool and see the spot where I did that to Rupert’s friend. Sprayed, in front of everyone. Who knew I had it in me? Do I want that in me?
It’s all very well for Latifa and Alyssia, with their fine words of letting go and their open legs and weird lesbian banter. I just don’t know if I’m like them. I’m not the life and soul of the party. I think too much. I’m…
My inner rebel is jumping up and down, though, clashing deafening cymbals. She startles me with the memory of kissing Sarah today. Of being anally penetrated by a strange man. While being fucked in my pussy. A pussy that had no need of lubrication. And of completely falling into the tail-spinning world of pleasure that came with all of it.
She has a point. Maybe I’m a born whore.
The thought makes me cross. I frown. What road have I come down, and is it too late to turn around? There are things I don’t like about this place. Mostly that means Petra. And her bitchy friend Lilia, who hasn’t said a word to me all week. Then there’s the humiliation. Having to be Petra’s personal body washer. The way I’ve been used. And made to walk around naked.
And yet part of me wants to keep doing the naked walks, and not just for Sarah. There’s a titillation to it I can’t deny. Part of me would pay all the money in the world to not miss whatever is coming next. I’m feeling sexually sated for the moment, but for how long? It seems that I’m discovering a new Emma – or perhaps a buried, long-forgotten Emma – who gets switched on at the slightest erotic hint.
Why am I denying this new Emma, and constantly judging her the moment the dust settles on her fun? Leave her alone!
I think of how comfortable my bed is here. How plush the car was, and how sumptuous the food. How pretty the girls are. How hard and how often and how well I’ve been…seen to. I flush inwardly as I think of my responses. I want to slap myself for being a dirty slut. And slap myself again…it’s a school for dirty sluts and you came here by choice!
But I don’t know how I’m doing. What was it Miss Jackson said? Something about gauging my natural responses? I swallow hard. I think I’ve ‘responded’ better than I expected to. But would that show through to them? Or have I been too shy? Too keen? Too reluctant? Ov
er-sensitive? Too noisy? The thought hits me that maybe I’m not supposed to come when I’m doing this for a job.
I just don’t know what’s normal. Does Petra come when she’s working? I can hardly imagine so. Is she anything other than mechanical when she’s with a client? Does she enjoy anything except smoking and being a cow?
I have absolutely no idea about any of this. God, anything for some feedback! Sometimes, with so much emotion and stimulation buzzing around, it’s hard to remember that this is a school at all. Probably because it’s the weirdest school I ever did see.
But what happens when I get an ugly man? Can I bring myself to do it? Petra would shrug and get on with it, wouldn’t she? Is that you, Emma?
I think of the work that had me in its snare until last week. It’s gone eight o’clock right now, but half of them would still be in the office, too scared to go home until someone else did. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could be worse than being back in that office. I smile just a little, and suddenly the swishing willows seem to calm me.
I’ve only been here three days, but feel a lot less alone than I did on Sunday. I have Latifa and Alyssia looking out for me. I’m not sure they quite get me – they’re too extrovertly strong. I’m more feisty in a don’t-mess-with-me kind of way, but only when pushed. I’ve never gone looking for trouble. Or fun, come to that. Though everything’s been turned on its head here.
But I like that Latifa and Alyssia are on my side. Then there’s Sarah. Oh yes, that was some snog. I breathe in sharply as I recall my first girl-kiss in years. How I lost myself in it, how our wrestling tongues made me feel like I was floating on air. Maybe it was just one of those in-the-moment things. It passed once we were out of that room. But I feel she’s someone I can open up to.
